Souls remember everything from the instant of their creation, though the pathway to these memories remains hidden from most of us. Even so, we do experience intuition and déjà vu, two vibrations capable of seeping through the imponderable barrier between our souls and the little-understood realm of human consciousness.
All souls are created equal. Nevertheless, some are rookies, while others have bounced around for centuries. Still, others date back thousands of millennia to the very first one—Soul Zero.
No one can be certain where souls come from or where they rest between ensconcing themselves in our ephemeral incarnations like gallbladders. Yet souls are neither of mind nor body. They carry no DNA or race, gender, tribe, nationality, religion, ideology. The soul we receive seems to have been gifted by the luck of a draw. Yet who can say? Souls are simply unfathomable.
Most tellingly, if we should happen upon a person ferrying the soul of a lover from a past life, a kind of recognition may occur, often taking the form of blisteringly delicious and ungovernable attraction. Those fortunate enough to know this phenomenon’s heart-stopping rush may refer to the moment as being hit by a bus or falling in love at first sight, yet it is actually a much deeper well. And therefore, it follows that someone living today could very well be hosting the soul that once occupied Joan of Arc, Napoleon, Anne Frank, Einstein, or Martin Luther King.
About fifteen years ago, a respected shaman professed to have accessed three of my past lives to the extent of seeing that during my most distant incarnation I had commanded a Roman legion before perishing after falling from a great height. He spoke of me prospering as a celebrated Argentine thespian and mother of three during my subsequent life. It was said I had died most recently while storming Omaha Beach on D-Day.
You may wonder how much credence I place in such tall tales. At this writing, the jury is still out. That said, I have always feared heights, even if only standing on a step ladder to clean out leaf-laden rain gutters. I remain addicted to Latin cuisine, and when I stood knee-deep in the surf at Omaha Beach in 2007, I wept like a baby.
All souls are created equal.
Clayton Van Hook 2020
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